


Twist of Fate

by Some_Impossible_Fairytale



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Humor, Blind Date, Confusion confusion everywhere, Exes, F/M, Gratuitous Taylor Swift references, Mild Language, exes on a blind date, in which communication is key, katherine is a boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Impossible_Fairytale/pseuds/Some_Impossible_Fairytale
Summary: “You’re fidgeting” Stefan chastises gently out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes scan the marble floor filled with glittering swathes of the great and the good.Caroline’s nails, lacquered with gold glitter to match the sparkling offset of her gown, dig deeper into the comforting thickness of Stefan’s black dinner jacket. They’re both dressed to the nines for this charity gala but Stefan, with his old Italian money, is used to this kind of setting. Caroline, whose preparation goes as far as winning Miss Mystic Falls in her tiny town in Virginia and the balls that her ex’s family used to throw once upon a time before he ripped her heart out and stomped on it by being a lying bastard.So it's safe to say she’s a tad rusty. To make matters worse, the beauty of Washington D.C. National Archives charity ball is also where Caroline’s meeting her blind date.Except as Caroline's about to discover, Love isn't blind at all, its damn insistent.





	Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This was not where I thought this was going to go and I’m really hoping you like it! Also, the title changed like five times. It’s amazing the amount of Taylor Swift I listened to with this. So many references, so little time.

_‘Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset’_

“You’re fidgeting” Stefan chastises gently out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes scan the marble floor filled with glittering swathes of the great and the good.

Caroline’s nails, lacquered with gold glitter to match the sparkling offset of her gown, dig deeper into the comforting thickness of Stefan’s black dinner jacket. They’re both dressed to the nines for this charity gala but Stefan, with his old Italian money, is used to this kind of setting. Caroline, whose preparation goes as far as winning Miss Mystic Falls in her tiny town in Virginia and the balls that her ex’s family used to throw once upon a time before he ripped her heart out and stomped on it by being a lying bastard.

Safe to say she’s a tad rusty.

To make matters worse, the beauty of Washington D.C. National Archives charity ball is also where Caroline’s meeting her blind date.

Her trust issues are far more extensive than she’d originally thought. It’s not that she has trouble trusting people at all, no in a perverse twist, Caroline trusts people too much.

Fucking Stefan and lousy tequila impulse buying this gorgeous fucking dress she in no way could realistically afford all in a last ditch effort to get over The Original Bastard himself.

So here she is, charmed with the promise of champagne, art and music in one of the greatest cities in the world, waiting on someone she’s never even met who could after all of this, have still stood her up. _Nothing new there,_ Caroline thinks to herself darkly, leaning away from Stefan to snatch a flute off a passing tray.

Apparently, Nick was a charming, funny museum director who has modelled for Lexi, Stefan’s best friend and artist in the past. So, he truly is ‘attractive on all fronts’ as Lexi had assured her over the phone. Attractive enough to warrant attending an honest to God ball. Caroline’s having Cinderella flashbacks.

Not that Caroline would dare to leave one of her loaned Louboutin’s on the stairs. Katherine would murder her in a slow and torturous death whilst doing her nails at the same time for the very thought of it.

She sticks her tongue out at Stefan instead, “Can you blame me?”

He laughs gently, handing her wrap to a cloakroom attendant and pocketing the ticket “No, but I’m sure you’ll blame me if tonight goes horribly wrong.”

She totally will too, given that this was all his idea.

“Nick’s a great guy, Care. I would never have arranged this if I didn’t think either of you wouldn’t be able to get past the pleasantries. He’d have my guts for garters for being a time waster.”

Stefan’s weak smile is a poor explanation at Caroline’s raised eyebrows. Releasing her arm as they settle near an ice sculpture, evidently the designated meeting point for Nick to aim for, Stefan shrugs. “He’s a little bit shy in the relationship department himself to be honest”

Ah. So at least if they don’t hit it off in the chemistry department they’ll at least be able to have a drink and commiserate over shitty exes for a while before making excuses and fleeing to fresh pastures. Or at the very least one of the different bars set up in various locations throughout the venue.

She can see why Stefan would bother. In the time they’ve known each other, Stefan’s never really interfered in her love life except to offer support that she was not a terrible person and that one day she would forget all about Klaus breaking her heart and fall madly in love. Move on without even realising. The same speech she gave him when Elena broke his heart. Another thing about Stefan was that he was quiet about matters of the heart and therefore easy to be around. He, unlike Kat who Caroline had run to in DC the minute everything went to shit, didn’t ask so at least there was someone Caroline hadn’t had to tell.

“He’ll love you. And you’re a knock out” he winks, pressing a kiss to her cheek for good luck before he steps back with a little wave. “I’m gunna go find Elena. He’ll be wearing a white rose in his button hole by the way”

Because Stefan was old fashioned enough that he didn’t believe in showing people pictures of their prospective dates before setting them up. So here she is, alone by the punchbowl in a gown.

Forget Cinderella, Caroline’s having Prom Night flashbacks. Sipping her champagne in an effort to quash the uneasiness bubbling in her stomach with a different kind of fizz, Caroline starts scanning the approaching men for someone with a white rose. She hopes, even if there’s no spark between them, that he’s interesting enough to help her forget the reason she’s here in the first place and talk about some history instead.

“Caroline?”

The intense relief that the prospect of meeting her wasn’t so horrendous that Nick has actually baled on the entire thing is so immense that Caroline whirls on her heel the moment her name is called. She doesn’t even realise that there was an accent. Let alone where the accent was from.

So, when she turns around and sees Klaus himself, so close he’s nearly standing on her feet, resisting the urge to scream is a very near thing. The face that greets her cuts any profanity down immediately.

“Klaus.” Over the years, Caroline’s said her boyfriend’s name, her _ex-_ boyfriend, she forces herself to remember, like choking on an ice cube, with every inflection of affection. Now it lies on her tongue as deadweight; hate and disgust and treacherous, traitorous love burning a white hot leaden hole behind her sternum.

_What is he doing here? What Mamma Mia, Grecian hideous trick of fate is life playing that he of all people in the world, in this multicultural city would be here?_

**On her motherfucking blind date no less.**

“What’re you doing here?” he’s genuinely confused, open and unaffected by the chance meeting in the way that only Klaus could be. He always was a good liar. He looks good too, the _bastard,_ elegantly beautiful in a black tuxedo, snow white shirt popped open to show the hollow of his throat, _the way she’d told him to wear it,_ with a white rose subtle in his buttonhole, the trademark stubble she had loved to trace with her lips, gracing his chin.

“Me?” Caroline’s hisses, her voice coming out so thinly that it strangles the shriek right out of her.  Her heels rap in satisfying menace as she stalks the tiny distance across the marble floor to poke a silvery nail in his chest “What about you?”

He actually has the grace – or should that be good sense? – to look embarrassed, ducking his head with red tipped ears for a moment. “Stefan set me up on a blind date. A desperate attempt to get over you he assumes with a delusional degree of hope and no small amount of blackmail would work. Some girl named Carrie.”

Everything goes from a rollercoaster to slow motion. Like her ears are full of treacle. _A blind date with a girl named Carrie._

Blind date. Stefan. Carrie. _Carrie?_ Blind date.

Stefan.

“Stefan Salvatore?” Because hey there might be another Stefan in his life, there might actually be a girl named Carrie here tonight which would make this so much less painful right now. Klaus just stares at her, irritation budding suddenly in his eyes, the way it always does at some unforeseen obstacle. That’s something else to remember. If she knows Klaus, and boy does she, he’s a strategist of the highest order. As far as he’s concerned the game is already won.

Caroline is no one’s game anymore. She’s not some kiddie pool. Not tonight. Tonight, she is a tsunami.

“Yes darling, how many other Stefan’s is it conceivable that both of us would know?”

Caroline’s eyes narrow into slits at his flippancy. _Big Mistake_ , Vivienne says in her head. _Big. Huge._

“Do _not_ get pissy with me just because you mistake my desire to clarify something as not understanding something. I may be a blonde but I’m not that blonde. And don’t call me darling”

He lost that right a long time ago. Actually, Caroline comforts herself, he never had that right.

With that confirmation however, the facts reassemble themselves, Caroline’s pieces of the puzzle slotting in beside the information Klaus had offered in a terrible tableau.

Stefan had set both Caroline and Klaus up on blind dates at the National Archives gala.

‘ _He’ll be wearing a white rose in his buttonhole’_

Caroline’s eyes sweep over Klaus’ outfit one more time. There it is, another thorn in her side, loud against the stark black of his dinner jacket. Klaus was Nick. Nick wasn’t sweet, artistic Nick at all. He was _Nik_ laus.

“Carrie?”

“Yes, I was ah, supposed to meet her over here somewhere” Klaus looks surprised that that’s the bit she’s zeroed in on. After all, the last she’d heard he was engaged to be married. To someone else. Whilst stringing her along at the same time.

 **Wanker,** as Bex would say. The thought of the younger Mikaelson hurts, a sharp sudden shot to the lungs that Caroline hadn’t expected. She hasn’t thought of Rebekah so casually in a long time. She hadn’t just lost Klaus that night. She had lost her family too.

But ‘Carrie’ is so close to her own name that it can’t be a coincidence, given the other line of dominos that have fallen so far. The connection strikes suddenly, the final nail in the coffin.

“My friends nickname for me is Care. Was there bad reception on the call by any chance?”

Realisation breaks over his features and once upon a time, in that fairytale romance that had been their life together, it would have made her smile. Caroline would have pulled on his arm, tucked her head under his arm and teased the crap out of him. Now it’s just the last cruel joke.

They’d met on a night much like this after all.

They stand, completely unsure of one another and in a sea of so many people Caroline’s never felt more alone than she does in this moment.

“So… you, you had moved on then?” the question is stilted and so not his business anymore and Caroline’s had enough Mikaelson drama to last her a lifetime. He doesn’t get to be a part of this chapter too.

“Well, it didn’t take you much time, so I thought I better start thinking about it, yeah” the acid that’s been bubbling inside her sings proudly in her veins at the rebuke, pain flowing freely off her tongue.

Klaus’ eyebrows return to his hairline, probably at the fact that Caroline’s voice could only narrowly be classed as ‘indoor’.

“Why are you here anyway?” Because when it comes to Klaus, turn out Caroline actually hates herself and can’t stop. “Nobody comes all the way from New Orleans to D.C. for a **date** ”

Oh God. Oh God why is she doing this? This is ridiculous, letting him have the chance to spit more poison in her ear after everything he’d already done.

Klaus’ mouth opens but nothing comes out for a moment before he nods at her. It’s a tiny little tick that she recognises from their relationship, where she was in full swing and he wanted to check that she was finished.

“Well, actually I came here because Aurora –“

At the mention of his fiancée’s (ex-fiancee now?) _God, Caroline, get a grip,_ the cat of Caroline’s curiosity pounces into the woodchipper as she remembers the way the flame haired girl had blown into her life, answering the door to Klaus’ rooms in her silky underwear, an enviable diamond evident on her fourth finger. She’d just finished her job abroad and come home early to surprise her darling Klaus. 

Caroline scoffs, the anger in her chest writhing at the mention of  Aurora. In her mind’s eye, Caroline can just see her over Klaus shoulder, grinning that Chesire cat grin, her black nails on her bare hips. If there’s one thing Caroline’s never had time for, it’s ghosts. “Great, now I’m even less interested.”

A few other guests are staring now, their eyes burning a hole in the back of Caroline’s head. It’s a look she knows well from Mystic Falls where everyone knows everyone. It makes her grateful that she had fallen off the radar that the Mikaelsons created and that she won’t end up splashed over page six.  Klaus leans forward, conciliatory and careful with that affluent awareness of the well born in public.

“Easy love. You’re making a scene”

Tears spring to her eyes, hot and unbidden. _Why is it always so easy for him to turn everything back on her?_

“Well we can’t have that” she shoves back at him, not caring who hears her, Caroline strides away across the floor as fast as she possibly can, ducking and weaving in-between bodies as any good event planner can. She doesn’t stop until she’s three galleries away, who knows where in the building. There’s only a handful of people in this section thank God, so Caroline’s sobs flow freely, mercifully unheard as she digs her phone out of her clutch. Avoiding an awkward encounter with a stranger was one thing, this, this monstrosity of an evening is where Caroline draws the line.

Which is saying something considering she once helped Bex climb out of a window at Tiffany’s to get away from Elijah who’d been boring them both to death.

 Enzo answers on the third ring. There’s chatter in the background; Gia and Katherine along with the muted crackle of the fire. The ache in Caroline’s heart begins to burn. Closing her eyes Caroline wills herself back onto the sofa, ensconced by those who love her best. Even the ride in a taxi will be too long to sit with just the mistakes of her past for company.

Caroline’s heels click together three times under her skirts.

“Hey Gorgeous!” her best friend’s voice is distracted, but there, in a way Enzo has never failed to be, obviously expecting a quick status update before Caroline returns to the swing of things.

“How’s it going?”

“Shit” Caroline chokes out succinctly, shrugging carelessly at the old woman who glares at her forceful vocabulary, her pretty manners skewered by the rage coiling between her shoulder blades at how not fair this was right now.  There’s some mumbling over the line, Enzo probably relaying her statement to the others. She can see him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he says “I’m putting you on speaker darling”

“Was he ugly?” asks Kat to no-one in particular “I bet he was ugly”

“He can’t be ugly, Lexi said he was a model” Gia reminds quietly

“Lexi’s an idiot and I have no opinion of her” Kat shoots back as though calling someone an idiot wasn’t an opinion. “There’s no accounting for taste with that wench”

“It’s Klaus” Caroline manages to mumble, every syllable a drop of hot lead in her heart. It’s even worse when her friends have to ask her to repeat it. “My blind date is Klaus. Stefan calls him Nik”

The silence as the three of them digest the information would be comical if it wasn’t such a shitty, shitty joke.

“Kat, I don’t care how pretty you think he is, I’m going to murder Stefan”

“I’ll hold him down” Gia offers her boyfriend darkly.

“I said pretty, Enzo, not smart. **Кървав ад** , I need a drink”

That’s another reason Caroline wishes she’d smuggled her family into the party. If they were here right now, Enzo would already have punched Klaus already and Kat would have made sure she had a drink to hand.

“Right I’m coming down there” Enzo speaks directly into the phone, evidently having taken it off speaker. God knows what he’s intending but whether it’s to punch Klaus (again) or just escort her out of there undisturbed, the pain in her chest eases a tiny bit at the thought.

“It’s invite only” Caroline remembers after a blissful second “You’d never get in”

“You’re saying that like I’ve never broken into anywhere before” Enzo counters cheerily.

“I’m not sure I want to know the veracity of that statement” Caroline retorts, some semblance of a smile coming back into her voice. Enzo was probably the most stable person in her life, as evidenced by the fact that he’d followed her to D.C. without a word of complaint. As if moving halfway across the country was something you just did for your best friend. He’d always had a gift for making chaos distant.

“When the moral compass is away, the rogue I’ll play”

“Very pretty”

“I know you are but what am I” he flirts comfortably. Not for the first time Caroline wishes it was that easy, that it had been Enzo she’d fallen in love with.

“Tell Stefan he’s a tosser from me if you see him. Get Elena to help you out if she’s not too busy being troubled with indecisiveness. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. I’ll be there soon.”  Enzo promises before they hang up. A small smile graces Caroline’s mouth and she presses the phone to her heart, love pulsing through her. Plus, Enzo had just given her permission to deck Klaus.

Caroline looks up and down the stretch of gallery, grateful that there’s no familiar face in sight. There are however several faces and she’s quite happy to wait quietly somewhere for Enzo to arrive than try and have a civilised conversation with a stranger. With her luck, the next person she’ll bump into will be Matt.

The person she _does_ want to see though, is that waiter with the fresh champagne flutes. Once she’s acquired her booty, Caroline slips out of the door onto the terrace. Celestial and terrestrial lights greet her, the stars above mirrored by the bustle of D.C. laid out below. It really is a beautiful sight. With a sigh, Caroline leans on the cool stone of the terrace’s balcony and tries to lose herself in the moment.

Her eyes glide shut; Klaus and Aurora, love and hate, get carried away by the breeze and the music.

Standing in the night air listening to _Midnight Serenade_ filtering through from the gala, Caroline feels displaced in time, a tiny blot on this one planet under the sheer weight of all the stars in the solar system. No wonder Atlas had had to hold up the sky.

There’s a prick of something on her shoulder, like the onset of goosebumps, something shifts in the world, miniscule but loud enough to announce itself. Then another on her hand. Warm and wet and barely there.

It’s beginning to rain.

Something comes loose inside Caroline’s heart, comforted and sad all at once, at the sympathy of the sky.

“Caroline”

_Seriously?!_

She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t have to. Her hands clamp around the champagne flute, relishing the destructive grind of glass on the stone.

“Will you at least look at me?” It’s always been an interesting position that Caroline occupied in Klaus’ heart. He couldn’t force her loyalty, her attention, as was expected of his siblings, his agent, his ‘subjects’. He had to earn it, hope for it. Now it seemed, he was asking for it.

Caroline shakes her head, keeps her eyes focused on the sunset, not trusting her voice. Either it will be too strong or not strong enough. Klaus will never break her again.

So _why the fuck_ does she care if she breaks him? Why is keeping this civilised the only thing that makes her bite her tongue?

“Talk to me,” his eyes burning a hole in the back of her head, and this, this is why she was the one who had had to leave New Orleans, because it wouldn’t matter how much hostility she threw his way, their connection would be there just the same.

 _Come on, get to know me! …I dare you._ “You can’t continue to ignore the connection still between us”

The way their wavelength was undisturbed even after this amount of time.

“The only thing that should be between you and me is a continent.”

There’s a sort of snort, an incredulous burst of humour. “And that is precisely why I love you Caroline Elizabeth Forbes. You always bring me up short”

He loves her? For a second, just one blissful second she feels like she’s flying, like she’s standing under a clear blue sky with the sun on her face, that he still loves her. That she’s not alone. Maybe… And then there comes the remembrance of everything that happened and Caroline becomes Icarus, Icarus again, destined to drown.

Because it was all a lie.

There’s another sigh, the one she recognises as being the Caroline sigh, the one where she wouldn’t do what she wanted him to do. The fact that he couldn’t bend her to his will, but that he followed hers without complaint.

She fucking loves that sigh right now. If she can’t hurt him, maybe she can harangue him into leaving her the hell alone.

“Would you at least join me for a drink?” he tries and she knows, knows the way he seems to know that she’d find solace in the open air, that he’s looking at the two untouched champagne glasses. Because champagne used to be their thing, damn him. “We never had a proper farewell”

It’s Caroline’s turn to scoff, because he’s audacious, he’s daring but Klaus Mikaelson has never been so crazy as to lie to her face. Well, the back of her head. Whatever. She’s not meant to be _helping_ the son of a bitch.

And Esther Mikaelson is just a whole other level of crazy.

Ugh, now she has to turn around. Spinning on her heel, Caroline stares past her ex…. everything, into where she can see the ballroom behind him. It reminds her of Mystic Falls, of New Orleans, spinning and chasing and twirling. Of so many nights, so much like this. With a pair of strong arms holding her safe. His soft arms.

It’s not conscious, it can’t be, but Caroline finds her eyes sliding to look Klaus in the eye. It’s a bit of a shock actually, but he’s lost all that poise and polish of earlier. His hair’s sticking up in rumpled spikes, like it does when he runs his hands through it, when a plan’s fallen through. His eyes are wild and lost, mouth speechless. Desperate.

A man on fire.

If she concentrates, she can imagine Kat and Enzo either side of her, watching her six, against this invasion. It doesn’t matter if they’re 10 minutes or 100 miles away, they’re with her. Caroline leans back against the rough stone balcony, spreading her arms languorously and regarding him from beneath her eyelashes. Shielding the glasses from his view.

He may be the King. But she used to be Queen.

She stares at one of her nails, the sparkle of the diamond in her lapis lazuli ring catching the last of the light, injecting every ounce of bitchy teenage boredom she has left in her body into her voice as she does so, “Telling you to leave and never come back sounds like a pretty proper farewell from where I’m standing”

Klaus’ mouth snaps shut at her glassy tone.

“And yet you were the one who packed your bags and ran. Very un-Caroline of you”

Caroline’s eyes shoot back to his face which she suspects, neck growing hotter and hotter, that this was his goal. The one thing Caroline did was see things through.  His eyes are gleaming with emotion but there’s the threat of smile in the corner of his mouth. Because he’s pulled her out from behind the façade of Miss Mystic Falls, Queen C, as he always could, the _bastard._

Brought her up short.

 “And how very un-classy of you” Enzo’s voice carries over the music like an avenging angel. He’s leaning against the latticed door to the inside with his arms crossed, sticking out with tousled dark hair, resplendent in leather jacket and dark wash jeans. God she loves him. Her getaway driver, her cornerstone. He shoulders past Klaus and reaches for Caroline. The tangle of her fingers with Enzo’s is all it takes to break the bubble that always seems to spin itself around the two of them.

Somehow it’s even worse.

Because Klaus and Enzo once considered each other brothers. Until Enzo chose Caroline and Klaus chose wrong. It’s obvious in the way she can only just see Klaus over the black shoulder of Enzo’s leather jacket and the need to get out of here, out of this stupid dress, for popcorn and bourbon makes her eyes begin to sting because she thought she’d left this hardness, the difficulty of life in Mystic Falls, leading a small town life, behind her.

“Mate –“ the word comes out choked, halfway between a threat and an endearment.

“You don’t get to do this. And –“ he sees Klaus mouth fall open in rebuttal at the fact that although he’s not complaining about the circumstances, it was hardly Klaus who arranged it “And don’t think I won’t be reading Stefan the Riot Act because that asshole is lucky I don’t drop him head first out of a window. How he graduated with such shitty research skills, I’ll never know. No. Not to her.” He tilts his head back  “Caroline, honey, you ready to go?”

Enzo hustles her off the terrace like a pro and it feels so fucking wrong to slip past Klaus like thieves in the night.

They’ve retrieved her wrap and are nearly at the stairs when there’s a booming shout right there in the middle of the ballroom “Caroline!”

Oh fuck, Michelle Obama just looked over. That’s it, they’re dead. Just did a grave for both of them.

It wouldn’t be a Mikaelson party without a show.

Caroline whirls in a twinkle of luscious skirts and candlelight so fast she’s surprised the heel on Kat’s shoe doesn’t snap. Klaus is fast approaching.

Fucking _Merde_ honestly.

Because of course, now that she’s got him chasing after her, it’s the last thing she wants. Scarlett O’Hara much?

Of course, the other guests, upon seeing the (self-styled) King of New Orleans charging towards them, sensibly clear a path, which of course, damn them, means Klaus is gaining ground pretty sharpish. Stefan appears in the corner of her eye, the poster boy for confusion, making his way apologetically through the crowds towards them.

Caroline turns with a scoff, keeping her eyes on the door. Enzo’s in front, pulling her along. They’re nearly there, nearly out the door and then she never has to lay eyes on Klaus Mikaelson again. Paris, London, Canada, San Francisco – there’s a number of places she could go. Bex would hide her. Just for a bit. Kol too. That’s the thing about the Mikaelsons. She could have gone, even to Elijah before he inevitably caved to Klaus, and they would have taken her with open arms. But it wasn’t them that she needed.

Or Bonnie or her Dad.

Chicago maybe. She’s missed Chicago.

For a moment, the mantle of ‘Queen’ hovers over her shoulders, a comforting blanket to shield her back. Caroline could cause the best and biggest scene if she wanted. The anger simmering under her skin, a firework aching for a match, the pain and the confusion and the sheer, pure fucked up nature of this whole night would see to that.

But that would be running.

Caroline’s so tired of running.

It turns out that these deliberations were her mistake, Caroline comes back to Earth with a bump as she feels warm callouses close around her wrist. Klaus is right there, a kiss away, eyes as stormy as their colour, hair just the way she likes it. He’s so close now, and just like that it feels like they’re alone. Enzo, Stefan, the patrons it all falls away.

“Caroline. Please. Not like this”

It’s private and open and just for her, so much like another memorable night:

_‘I love you. Is that so hard to believe?’_

_“Yes!”_

_“Why? You’re beautiful, you’re strong, you’re full of light. I enjoy you”_

Had he been lying then, in high school? Had college and Chicago and New Orleans all been a lie? Or had he meant it and his mind only changed when someone better came along? When Aurora, with her fiery hair and her perfect breasts and Muse qualities had waltzed in? Caroline finds the tears starting to burn and thanks God she made the life commitment to stick to waterproof mascara. Because he’s right. Because however else it should have ended, it shouldn’t be like this.

But this is all they get.

“Talk to me. Come home and _talk to me”_

_Come on, take a chance. Talk to me._

He’d scrawled those words on the back of her last invitation: **Come home.**

She’d never gone to that ball, the Mikaelson soiree. Klaus had been really excited about it, she remembers that. Some grand announcement. It wasn’t that she actually ever needed an invite, she’d been Mikaelson in nature if not by name. But Klaus had always sent one to her just the same, just the way he’d always scribbled a note on the back ever since that first party, _Save me a dance. Fondly, Klaus._

She collected them, that Cinderella dream living quietly in her heart. She still had the frame with them all, overlapping. It was propped down the side of her desk, out of sight because she couldn’t bear to destroy it. 

“Klaus?” Stefan appears questioningly at Nik’s elbow with Elena and Damon just behind. Naturally.

Klaus bristles at the interruption and it reminds her of the wolves that haunted the trails around Mystic Falls, or the colts that Katherine’s father kept on his ranch, untamed and set to trample any attempt to bridle their freedom.

There’s that hot, white sensation pulsing in her heart again.

_“I don’t want our last conversation to be this”_

_“And I don’t want this to be our last conversation”_

Spell broken, wrenching her hand free, Caroline artfully reverses her correlation to Enzo so that she’s the one leading, revelling in the opportunity to shove Stefan and his intervening ass out of the way. “You’re really low!” Caroline shouts at Stefan, not caring a button who hears her now.

They make it out, out into the night air, cool and blissfully crisp rain. It isn’t until she’s in the back seat of Kat’s beast of an SUV, with Enzo telling Kat ‘don’t spare the damned horses’, Gia’s there too of course, elegantly sombre as she clasps Caroline’s hands that she begins to sob.  

****

“Piss off”

Enzo squares himself elegantly against the penthouse doors, leaning in the doorway with all the swagger of the home advantage, hands in his pockets as he regards the wreckage of Klaus Mikaelson standing in their foyer.

 “Get out of the way Enzo. Please.” Klaus fights the urge to loosen his tie, unable to show weakness even before a friend, spitting out the pleasantry from gritted teeth.

Enzo cocks his head, listening to the current strain of Taylor Swift’s _Red_ filtering loudly through the apartment. As he watches, Klaus’ eyes flutter closed for a moment and those famous shoulders slump. He almost looks wistful but he doesn’t move.

Caroline always plays Taylor Swift when she wants to scream at the world.

Klaus rubs his eyes, nails digging into the bridge of his nose because he’s done understanding, he’s done careful hasn’t gotten him anywhere. Because the truth of the matter is he doesn’t understand.

He hasn’t understood a thing since Caroline demanded her key back and told him not to look back, because she wouldn’t be there. What had followed had been the longest six months of his life; dead ends and dud numbers and the temptation of the inside of a bottle of bourbon. He’d been so shocked at the gala he’d nearly kissed her right then and there, if not for the hate shining in her eyes.

Enzo tsks and straightens up, so that they’re eye to eye. Englishman to Englishman. “You just don’t care do you? What she needs. What you did. Whereas, I’ve got a girl in here crying over you because she cares _so much”_

Except Klaus and Enzo aren’t gentlemen. They’re scrappers. “Listen to me right now. The one thing I have ever done right in this life is love that girl” Klaus pointed at the door, shoulders snapping, “And the only regret I have is losing her so if you don’t tell me precisely what the fuck happened six months ago that the love of my life shut me out, I will kill you”

“You honestly don’t know?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking”

“And on that note…” Enzo smiles acidly and Klaus gets ready to fight his corner, before Enzo’s smile smooths out and he looks honest as water “Aurora”

Aurora de Martel? Klaus hasn’t seen or heard from the woman in just under six months. After Cami threw her out of Rousseau’s the week after Caroline left New Orleans…

_That bitch._

“What did she do?” Klaus growls, reminding himself to focus on Enzo instead of all the pleasant pictures of murdering Aurora slowly for whatever poison she inflicted upon Caroline. Caroline, who had been blooming so beautifully in New Orleans, a stronger, more confident woman who laughed at his demands and whose silent steadfast strength had changed the way he conducted business in his – **their** – city. Under her expectations, Klaus had stopped bellowing orders to offering second chances. Her morality had blessed his negotiations with diplomacy and exceptional results. Art was flourishing in the city for her delighted gasp, students patronised so that Caroline’s touch was not withheld.

The Mikaelsons had actually succeeded in living under the same roof, the Compound, that Klaus had bought all those years ago with that intention, due to Caroline’s machinations. She had not enjoyed such success since Mystic Falls, despite Mikael. Including Marcel and Rebekah’s engagement.

Klaus still isn’t a 100% sure how Caroline managed that one short of getting him high.

“It’s not what she did mate” Enzo shoots back from his doorframe, with none of the friendliness such endearment ought to imply, “it’s what you did. The day Caroline came here, Aurora had opened the door to your rooms wearing an impressive engagement ring and not much else”

Klaus was beyond reaction excepting an impressive stream of inventive swearwords he had inherited from Kol.

 That **psycho.**

“I want to see her.” Klaus as good as shouted when he’d regained his faculties. It’s crossing the line but he grips the doorframe, like its an elevator door he’s trying to stop, so Enzo won’t slam it in his face.

Enzo made a great show of raising one eyebrow from where he’d been examining his fingernails and straightened up. “And what good would that do? Even with, what I’m guessing” Enzo offered a crooked smile, always thoroughly delighted in watching one of the Mikaelsons lose it, “was a scandalous falsehood, you can’t just _tell_ Caroline it was all a lie. That’s what I’m going to do and what difference d’you think it’ll make? I hate to say it but she believed you capable of it and that’s the worst part”

Klaus’ fingers slide free of the doorframe. Enzo was right of course, damn him.

Klaus couldn’t tell Caroline he’d been nothing but faithful. He had to prove it too.

The two men stared at each other and it was this reason why Klaus had always loved and hated Enzo in equal measure, what had made him family. He was able to twist the knife, but, by God, he looked you in the eye while he did it. Klaus’ hand slipped from the doorframe to rest, of all places, on Enzo’s shoulder.

“First of all, thank you. And…” Klaus pauses, knowing it’s a long-shot but unable to help himself, “Give her my love.” Because it was all a horrible, Grecian trick of fate misunderstanding. Because it wasn’t that she’d stopped loving him, it was that she was labouring under the hideous misapprehension that he had stopped loving her. As if you could rewrite the facts of the universe so easily.

Enzo gives a hiccup of a laugh and then before Klaus knows what’s happening, which if anyone asks, he’ll blame on the three bourbons he downed after Caroline walked away from him, Enzo has wrapped his hand around the back of Klaus neck and pulled him to a hug.

After a moment, Klaus felt his arms raise to wrap about Enzo’s back.

“I never thought I’d say this again you son of a bitch, but it’s actually good to see you”

Klaus laughed quietly that it would not disturb the karaoke inside “You too brother” he clapped Enzo on the back heartily “You too”

*****

The question became how. It was like waiting for Newton’s apple as Klaus mulled over the ways to get Caroline in the same room and listen to what he had to say. Naturally his frustrations spilled into his art, sketchpads filled with Caroline.

The first thing he had actually done was set out to destroy Aurora but when he’d called Marcel about it, there hadn’t been a trace. Which made zero sense since Aurora was flighty but she loved a good fight. That was until he received a call from Katerina of all people.

It came one rainy Thursday, Klaus still locked in the penthouse apartment he’d taken to renting in DC listlessly dabbing a tear onto a sketch of Caroline. He’d found it easier to draw her in all colours of emotion when he was the cause of it, it was a way of acknowledging his guilt to himself, when he couldn’t confess it to her.

“If you’ve called to gloat, you can piss off right now” he mutters down the line by way of greeting, phone dangling carelessly from his fingers, ready to smash it into the ground on the first impulse.

That in itself is a lie. If Katherine’s got his number, it means Caroline might call. Or be waiting to be put through to him.

“We both know I’d rather burn alive than help you, Mikaelson, but helping you helps the ones I actually give a shit about so here we are.”

 “An act of charity? Are you ill Katerina? Weren’t you always the one telling Caroline that she better off without me?” his voice is gruff as he spits out the words, choking on the truth of them, to Katerina fucking Petrova of all people.

“Elijah swore to withhold phone sex until I called you. My libido takes priority over yours, believe me” Katherine informs him with her trademark bluntness.

Klaus eyes flutter closed as he tries not to picture _Elijah_ having phone sex. As dearly as he loves his brother, he’d just never seemed the type. It must be like trying to get it on with the Speaking Clock.

“Anyway”  Klaus tries desperately to refocus onto what Katherine is actually saying “according to Enzo you’re not actually cheating scum. Kudos to you for that one. So what’s the plan?”

“As if I’d tell you” Klaus shoots back on reflex.

“If you want a hope in hell you will” Katherine fires back easily, because they both know she’s right, damn her. “So? What is the great Klaus Mikaelson going to do?”

“Destroy the de Martels” he bluffs, as if its already going to plan.

To his surprise Katherine snorts loudly down the phone. “You’ll have a hard job. Already taken care of.” And this time she is gloating; he can picture her, blood red nails twining round the phone cord, those glossy curls shaking with mirth “What did you think I was doing when Caroline turned up here? Holding things together? She doesn’t need me for that.” And for a split second Klaus actually liked Katherine.

“So, step two is?” she drawls, already bored “Accomplishing Caroline’s happiness for which she unfortunately needs you. So how do you figure it Prince Myshkin?”

Klaus was silent. Katherine may love Caroline, but she does not know her as he does. The only one he would concede may have inkling is Enzo, but he’s been silent on the matter too. Klaus stares down at the sketch of Caroline sitting in his lap, finger brushing away the still damp tear left by his brush.

The answer hit him like a bolt of lightening. “Can you get Caroline to the Hirshhorn Museum in three weeks time?”

“What? What the hell for?”

“Can you do it or not Katerina?”

“I could sell water to a fish, of course I can fucking do it” she snaps back.

“Then I suggest you hop to it, or the only thing you’ll be getting for Christmas is a trip to a nunnery” he snarled before hanging up. It was an empty threat and well they both knew it. Imagine the poor nuns.

Rubbing the drying paint from his hands, Klaus looked happily down at the sketch still cradled in his lap.  The answer had been staring him in the face.

Caroline stares at her computer, willing her hands to comply but to no avail. She was done with the niceties, she was sorely tempted to just bite the bullet and write the expose of the Mikaelsons that she’d planned as the most cathartic fuck you of all time. But now, staring at the word document with Taylor Swift as her only companion, she just couldn’t do it. Even with the horrified faces of Esther and Mikael, may he writh in hell, floating pleasantly in her mind.

Because of all the people who’ve tried to tear down the Mikaelsons over the years, she’s the only one who can hit them where it’s gunna leave a scar. Privy as she was to all the Mikaelson secrets, she could well and truly put an end to them. Plus it’s not like they can lawyer up on her. Esther Mikaelson learnt not to fuck with Caroline Forbes a long time ago.

But the thing is, Esther had actually been civil. She may be a crazy bitch, but she was a polite one and next to Aurora and Aunt Dahlia – who Caroline had met that one terrifying Christmas before they broke up – she was a walk in the park. Esther had liked Caroline. Which had made Klaus all the more protective apparently.

But the pain that it would cause Rebekah and Kol, the most fragile of the family and Henrik, who was set to graduate high school in the spring held her back.

Caroline took another sip of her vodka and cranked Taylor higher. Jesus, what a mess.

This was not how Caroline had imagined the story of Klaus and Caroline, Caroline and Klaus – there’s a cute nickname in there somewhere but like fuck can she remember it – would go. From romance to tragedy quicker than you could say Romeo and Juliet. Actually, that’d be a fantastic byline….

Caroline’s expose has taken on a different meaning in any case, ever since Enzo had sat down on the edge of the bed and told her that Aurora was lying. That Klaus had never cheated. That everything had been a lie, just not the one she’d thought. The words on the screen now spell out more an apology to the man she loved than a warning to other non-suspecting women. Because she had believed Aurora, over him. She had failed the test of honour.

Doomed to be alone for all time.

Because even if he did want to talk, even if he did just want to clear the air. How could she face him? How could she believe that he hadn’t lied to Enzo too? That had always been Caroline’s failing, believing that she was the exception to Klaus’ rule.

Caroline slams the lid of her macbook down in disgust.

As she’s mulling the past seven months over, swirling her drink gloomily about, the door to the apartment slams against the wall.

“The cute one’s here”

Katherine’s customary greeting pulls a rare true smile to Caroline’s tired glossy mouth.

“Where hast thou been sister?” Caroline asked, habit speaking for her.

Kat gave her traditional, dramatic sigh as she appeared, framing herself gloriously in the doorway, all sexy curls, long legs and sharp nails “Killing swine”

As she watches, Katherine swishes elegantly to plonk her gorgeous self in the armchair beside Caroline’s makeshift desk at the living room ottoman, legs hanging over the side of the arm, totally at home.

“So Darling,” Katherine begins in a conversational tone which is fucking false, because whenever Kat is conversational it means she wants something.

“Elijah” Oh fuck, if its something to do with Elijah, Caroline wants out “was banging on” Caroline starts powering down her laptop “about some art show that he has spare tickets to and now that he can’t go I was wondering if you wanted to?” Katherine manages to get out just as Caroline was retrieving her vodka bottle from the side of the sofa.

Caroline stares at Katherine, somewhat bug eyed. The only time Kat has attended  an art show willingly is with the promise of sex.

“Kat, erm”

“Please? Look battery operated just isn’t doing it for me right now and if you take me to the show I can get him with promises of culture and refinement”

“And they say romance is dead”

Katherine shrugged “This Kat wants her cream”

Caroline’s eyes shut tight and she held out a hand in askance “If I say yes, will you _stop_ ”

Katherine gave a wicked little cackle. That’s a yes.

Which is how Caroline ended up at the Hisrchhorn Museum on a Wednesday night in the black cocktail dress she’d worn to Elena’s birthday party a few years ago. It’s for a show entitled “The Fate of Pygmalion” by an extremely reclusive artist. Going off the title it’s probably a romantic ode to someone which totally fits why Elijah wanted to bring Katherine here, but its also not exactly what Caroline was hoping to engage with right about now. Still, it will be a nicer piece than her expose.

There’s quite a lot of people here and from the minute they’re handed their champagne, the buzz in the room in evident. From a little of her trademark earwigging, it becomes obvious that the artist is here and that none of the pieces are for sale, which weird, but he’s debuting and established, so maybe he’ll sell a little down the line.

There’s quite obviously a theme, going from the rich pops of colour Caroline can see from across the room even from their position by the door, a portrait of what looks a lot like Elizabeth I, a scene somewhere in Egypt, a city on fire.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away” comes a teasing British voice.

“Enzo?” Caroline turns to see Enzo, arm wrapped round Gia, beside the first painting of the exhibition, the titular piece -  Galatea has her back to the audience, her golden head inclined towards Pygmalion at her feet staring adoringly up at her. But there’s a curiosity in the piece because from the way the painting’s been done, it almost looks like Pygmalion’s the one turning from stone to flesh, not the other way around…

“I couldn’t miss this” and Gia mirrors his mysterious smile before the four of them start to wander through the room.

“I thought Pygmalion was the woman he created?” Katherine asks, as they observe the first painting, Galatea’s strong young back and coils of hair. “No” Enzo and Caroline answer together, faithful students of Klaus’ history lessons.

“It’s the name of the creator. Like Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster.”

“That’s another comparison entirely”

“Fuck off Kat” This earns Caroline a momentary glare from another patron just down the line but it’s strange. He looks irritated by her choice of language. He looks at Caroline. Then the painting in front of him and back again before his entire face lights up.

It's only when the group make it down to where the offended bystander was well, standing that the reason for reaction becomes apparent. Because it’s the first time that the woman’s face – and they’re all paintings of women, some with, some without a male companion can be seen by the viewer.

Caroline nearly swears again.

Because her own face is staring back at her. The order and rhythm of the gallery loses all meaning and Caroline darts about the room, the others hot on her heels.

A thousand years of love whirls past Caroline’s disbelieving eyes: Helen and Paris. Beatrice and Dante. Francesco and Paolo, Benedict and Beatrice, Henry and Anne, Emma and Lord Nelson, Venus and Ares, Psyche and Eros, Napoleon and Josephine, Elizabeth and Darcy, Cleopatra and Antony, Catherine and Potemkin.

Except the setting may tell one story but the faces tell another. Because despite the placards and the costumes, it’s Caroline’s own face that stares back at her, again and again and again, at the centre of all these great loves.

Even the one of Elizabeth I, that she’d recognised earlier along with the words “What’s a Queen without her King? Historically better”

They all have her face. But all the men, all the men are Klaus. Caroline stops stock still in the middle of the floor, the centre of attention all again. The gala had been beautiful but this…these reimagining’s, these celebrations of love, that Klaus looks at all these stories and sees only her, this is the fairy-tale she’d been missing.

Except Caroline isn’t sure what the moral of hers is here. Eyes darting past the paintings, Caroline searches for the true blonde curls of Klaus, steeling herself for whatever his version of an explanation to putting her so literally on display is. But rather than Klaus, she finds another Mikaelson waiting for her.

“Elijah? Katherine said that you –“ Elijah’s answering smile is rueful, the way he always is when he indulges Klaus.

 _Oh for fuck’s sake._ Katherine better have hidden her Gucci because when Caroline gets home its going for a nice swim.

“Hello Caroline. I had hoped that we would meet again under…easier circumstances.” Katherine really had to teach Elijah how to greet people, because Caroline’s starting to feel like she’s been welcomed to a funeral.  Before Caroline knows what’s happening Elijah has gathered her in a hug and kissed her cheek warmly.

“Elijah,” Caroline can’t help but reciprocate the greeting but she forces herself to be angry and puts an arm’s length between them “whatever theatrics Klaus has designed for this evening to get my attention, I cannot believe you encouraged him to make such a – **public exhibition –** of me” she hisses. Elijah ducks his head in bashful acknowledgement.

“You were not returning his phone-calls” he answers simply, his brother’s happiness the only justification necessary.

God a few months without her and they were falling back into their old ways.

 _No,_ snarled the angry, wounded part of her heart cries _No feeling sorry for these assholes!_

She’s just about to push past him and find Klaus himself – who is obviously here, the dick - wherever he’s skulking about like Batman, observing her reaction from somewhere safe, just so that she can get a simple straight answer for once.

“He can’t just do this Elijah. Klaus can’t expect me to still care for him in spite of everything he’s done”

Except he can. Because she does. Always has, always will. And Elijah knows that just as well as Caroline does. Because as much as she’d told herself that the reason she couldn’t write an article damning the Mikaelsons was because of the others, it’s a twisted version of the truth. Because Klaus, whatever else he’s done, doesn’t deserve any more pain.

“Caroline” Elijah steps forward, takes her hands in his “I understand your apprehension, I truly do. Klaus has never let his heart rule his head. It seemed impossible. And then he met you. I think you can agree, this exhibition shows whatever paranoia occupies his mind, his heart belongs to you”

_You have bewitched me, body and soul._

“You are a Mikaelson” Caroline’s mouth opens to protest but Elijah steams on regardless “And like any Mikaelson you are slow to forgive. Aurora hated you from the moment she realised that you held Klaus heart in a way she never did. You eclipsed her so utterly and Aurora could not understand that level of connection, so she sought to destroy you. You have commanded something of Niklaus that I have only seen him give willingly to one other person. His loyalty. I know of only one other person who enjoys such a privilege.

“Marcel”

Elijah nods “So when you speak to him all I ask is that you bear that in mind. I’m not asking you to forgive him. Merely listen to what he has to say, _all_ what he has to say. Because it’s the truth”

Caroline fights down a smile and fails. There’s the older brother she remembers.

“Give me your word” she negotiates, pleased by the true smile she finds Elijah gives her.

He bows his head briefly, though his eyes never falter from hers. “You have my word sister”

That seems to be the end of the conversation and Caroline steels herself to find Klaus and get this over with. One way or the other.

“Sister,” Caroline turns to see Elijah, one arm around Katherine, her long legs stunning against the black of Elijah’s pant leg, like a James Bond movie. Caroline’s own curls tremor and she wishes for the cool collectiveness of Bond herself. Or Madeline Swann.

“Yes Lijah?” she finds herself slipping back into the nickname with ease.

“I hear Paris is lovely this time of year”

For the smallest of seconds, Caroline wonders if she’s genuinely going to hop on a damn plane just to say sorry. But then the paintings come back to her. There isn’t one of Paris that she can see, but Elijah likes the game as much as the next man.

Kat elbows him unforgivingly. “Too obtuse” she hisses in his ear “What he means is, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”

Caroline smiles, surveying her family gathered about her. It feels like the first true smile in months, joy untamed, red lips curved sharp as a scimitar as the pieces slot into place.

She knows exactly which painting to head for.

Sure enough, Klaus is standing in front of the canvas she had seen earlier, of a city on fire. The landscape dominates the scene, towers tumbling and distant temples wracked with fire. The lovers are tiny compared to the rest of the scene really, staring up at the monstrous size of the wooden horse looming beyond the painted city’s walls. Helen, with Caroline own trademark curls gapes upward with Paris (she’d know those shoulders anywhere) trying to block her view, gripping her arms, totally blind to the destruction their love has caused.

Caroline’s eyes move from the artwork on the wall to the different artwork standing surveying it. Klaus’ hands are in his pockets, and this, this is her James Bond, perfect in a black tuxedo, blonde curls ungelled by product but still perfectly windswept.

****

“You always said you would let your kingdom burn as long as you still had me”

The relief is so strong at hearing Caroline’s voice, and hearing her as **Caroline,** full of her character, tease and hope mixed irretrievably together, that it knocks a surprised gasp from Klaus’ lungs.

“I meant it,” he reaffirms the promise, turning to see her standing there and Klaus thanks a God he had stopped believing in, that she’s actually smiling at him. “Just like I meant it when I said I would never stop loving you. London would have to fall into the Thames first”

Caroline snickered “Quoting _The Tudors_ probably isn’t the best idea considering what happened to Henry and Anne’s relationship, don’t you think?”

Klaus answering smile falters as he weighs up the reply, desperate for the truth. But carefully. If either of them mishandle this, if this backfires, it might be the end once and for all. He takes one, testing step. Caroline simply smiles, brief and direct, waiting for his response.

“The ill fortune of false friends is a pain we share with Henry and Anne Tudor, don’t you think?”

Caroline’s smile wipes well and truly off her face and Klaus knows she’s thinking of Mikael, damn him, and his efforts to damn them back from the very first of their relationship. And Aurora, setting the cougar among the pigeons.

“No, no, Caroline” and the uncertainty, the dance they had begun stops. Klaus closes the distance between them, taking her hands firmly in his. “It wasn’t your fault. It _isn’t_ your fault. Aurora’s completely crackers and –“

“I’m so sorry Klaus” Caroline crumples, clinging onto him for dear life. The red of her nails could be the blood of his palms she’s digging in so tight.

“For what, sweetheart?” he cupped her cheek, traced her jaw. “For leaving me? You ought to be”

Caroline snorted a tad snottily.

“Yours is the standard under which I march Caroline. That ring that Aurora stole was yours, this artwork is yours. I love you. Do you –“

“I love you. I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m sorry I believed that shit, but I never stopped loving you”

There’s nothing else for it, Klaus decides and he’s delighted when he moves to kiss her cheek, Caroline seeks his mouth. It takes him back to their first kiss, because it’s exactly the same, joy and rushed desperation and pure, absolute need.

They stumble backwards in a tangle of legs and black formal wear, Klaus pushing Caroline back up against the wall of the gallery, regardless of who can see. It wouldn’t be the Mikaelsons without a show.

“The painting!” Caroline gasps in between kisses, trying to turn her head as they accidentally brush against the frame.

“I can do another” Klaus argues, too busy with her neck.

“Damage my painting and I’ll fucking kill you”

“Sounds good to me. Wait, wait, I had a plan here” Klaus prises himself away, with one last quick kiss, unable to withhold affection he can now lavish as freely as he did before Aurora de Martel came into their life.

Klaus moves from her wrists to brace himself against the wall, so that her hands are free to tangle in his hair. It’s a moment, a breath, but then Caroline’s fingers feel only empty air. Once she’s regained the sensation in her legs, Caroline looks down to find Klaus has wrapped both her hands in his, sinfully larger ones again, except he’s on one bended knee.

_Holy Mother of God._

“Caroline Elizabeth Forbes” Klaus manages, looking like he’s choking on nails he’s so scared “Take me by the hand” Well, he’s done that for her so what the hell is he on about? “And say, “Klaus of England, I am thine” which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud “New Orleans is thine, the Compound is thine, _this artwork is thine”_ Klaus bowed his head and she’s either going to swoon or she’s having Hollow Crown flashbacks “ **And Klaus Mikaelson is thine** ”

Caroline’s trying to remember how to breath by telling herself how much she can’t get over he’s plagiarising Shakespeare.

“Therefore, Queen of all, will thou have me?”

Those impossible blue eyes find hers. He really does go the whole hog. It’s so Klaus, it hurts. Of course, he wouldn’t be happy with getting back to together, he has to jump right back to where they jumped off.

Fucking mind reader.

“ _Will you marry me Caroline?”_ he whispers at last

Caroline swallows hard, desperate to find her voice “I will”

Klaus is grinning like a maniac but that doesn’t stop him. _Naturally._ “You’re supposed to say: I do”

 “Hmm” Caroline pretended to consider, one finger tapping her cheek thoughtfully “Considering you completely ripped off William Shakespeare, against entirely the wrong painting might I add…I suppose I’d have to say, I’ll think about it” her eyes twinkle, the Queen of New Orleans, back full force.

All in all, she isn’t surprised when he jumps her again.

Which is pretty much the story of the best make-up sex of all time.

 

_*Three weeks later*_

 

**You are warmly requested at the wedding of**

**Caroline Elizabeth Forbes & Niklaus Ansel Mikaelson**

**At the Mikaelson Compound, New Orleans**

**On the 6 th September 2018. **

Katherine smiled happily down at the stiff pasteboard between her fingers, enjoying the evidence of Happily Ever After.

“Elijah, darling!” she shouted across the mansion as loud as humanly possible, holding the invite aloft, “I WIN”

**The End.**


End file.
